Bad News Bear
by Silver Bee
Summary: Gordon faces his greatest enemy. Not the Hood - someone much, much worse...


_Finally, a one-shot! (Okay, so it's __almost as long as some of my multi-chapter stories - actually it's a combination of two story ideas and a random scene that I wasn't sure what to do with - but it's still a one-shot.) This is especially for McHammy who's been waiting patiently now for about two years to find out how a certain thing happens to a certain person (not giving anything away there!). Hope you like it. Bee_

Ushering his two youngest sons along the row of seats to their usual places, Jeff Tracy took a moment to savour the atmosphere of the baseball stadium, feeling all the stresses of the past week begin to melt away. He loved this place, loved the opportunity it gave him to relax, to forget about his business concerns. He could even stop worrying about his latest project which, despite his occasional fears that he was going insane, that the stress of running a multi-billion dollar international company had finally got to him, actually seemed to have a chance of one day becoming reality. Here, things like that just didn't matter. In his old home town on a Friday night, he wasn't 'Mr Tracy' or 'Sir', he was 'Jeff' or - best of all - 'Dad'.

Alan threw himself into his seat and immediately grabbed at one of the cartons of popcorn Gordon carried.

"You sure you don't want any?" the ten-year-old asked, waving the box at his brother.

"You know I can't," Gordon replied, taking the seat next to his brother and pushing the popcorn back in Alan's direction, "I'm in training. I'm not going to win the state championship next week unless I'm in peak condition."

Jeff was only half-listening to his boys as he scanned the crowd for two more sons. John and Virgil were cutting it fine, he thought. Only five minutes until the game started. He'd been lucky to make it in time himself, but then he'd had to come all the way from New York. His boys had only had to cover the distance from the other side of town.

"Where are they?" he muttered. "I thought they'd be here waiting for us."

"John probably got caught up in whatever he was researching at the library," Gordon said. "They'll be here, Dad. Don't worry."

Alan mumbled something, his mouth too full of popcorn for them to understand exactly what he said, but his pointed finger was enough and his father and Gordon turned to see the missing brothers headed towards them.

"Everything okay?" Jeff asked, noting Virgil's pale face. His son took the seat next to him, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment with a palpable sigh of relief. John pulled a face at his brother even as Gordon and Alan burst out laughing.

Virgil opened his eyes, glaring at John for a moment as the elder boy reached across and grabbed a second carton of popcorn. "Oh, I'm fine. Absolutely fine. John's just driven me halfway across town. Why wouldn't I be okay, Dad?"

Jeff had to smile as Gordon reached across him and patted his brother's arm. "Deep breaths, Virg," he instructed. "You made it. You're safe now."

"I can hear you," John told them. "Stop moaning, Virg. If you didn't want to go in the car with me you shouldn't have booked an extra piano lesson tonight. We made it in one piece, didn't we?"

"_We_ did," Virgil agreed. "Pity your car didn't. I suppose you want me to fit a new fender tomorrow?"

Jeff frowned. How John had passed his driving test he'd never know. When he'd called his eldest at college to give him the news, Scott had suggested his brother might have forged his licence, but Jeff hadn't taken that one seriously for a moment. Still, John seemed to manage. His car might be giving Virgil all the experience the fifteen-year-old could dream of in terms of maintenance and repair, but his second son always escaped unscathed. Which was more than could be said for Grandma's beloved rose bushes, several lamp posts and a fire hydrant... It was just as well he was a billionaire, Jeff thought. No one else could have kept up with the cost of John's insurance.

"Dad, can I come back with you?" Virgil asked. "I've risked my life enough today."

"I'll go with Johnny!" Alan piped up. Of all the boys, the youngest was the only one who willingly got into a car with John.

"No you won't," Jeff told him.

"I'm not going," Gordon insisted. "I won't win the state championship if I'm dead in a ditch somewhere."

"I'm not rising to it," John informed them. "You're just jealous that I can drive and you can't."

"It's just as well you want to go into space," Virgil told his brother. "No pedestrians to worry about up there. Or stop signs. Oh, we took another one out on the way, Dad. Sergeant Hooper says he'll call you tomorrow."

"Another one?" Jeff sighed as John shrugged unconcernedly. "So that's why you were so late. John, after the game you can follow me home. And heaven help you if you run into the back of the Porsche."

As the visiting team took the field, Alan thrust the half-empty box of popcorn at Gordon. "Hold this," he instructed, reaching down to pull something out of his rucksack. Gordon frowned as a familiar figure made his appearance.

"Did you have to bring that thing?" he asked.

Alan held the bear's paw and waved it at Gordon. "Barclay's pleased to see you, too."

Gordon's reply was lost as their team trotted out onto the field and they jumped to their feet to cheer. Alan stood on his seat, waving his lucky mascot high in the air before jumping back down and tossing the bear onto Gordon's lap as he reached for his popcorn.

"Get it off me!" Gordon snarled, throwing the bear at his father. It missed, landing on Virgil's lap. The middle brother yelled in protest, gingerly picking it up by the very edge of one bald ear - the bear was looking decidedly less than pristine these days - and leaning across to hand it back to Alan.

"All yours, Al," he said, rubbing his hand on his jeans to cleanse himself of all traces of the bear.

Alan looked at his brothers in amusement. "You guys are paranoid, you know that?"

"Big word for a small guy, Al," Gordon told him. "Anyway, we're not paranoid. That bear's unlucky. I keep telling you that."

"Gords, if he's so unlucky, how come that since I got him we've had our biggest winning streak for years?"

Gordon had to agree that their team had done surprisingly well recently. Maybe the bear _had _brought them luck - and he didn't seem to be doing Alan any harm. But he couldn't help being suspicious of the thing, blaming it for one of the worst events to have ever befallen the family, when all five boys had found themselves held hostage in this very stadium. He'd gone out of his way to pay it back in the weeks that followed, ably abetted by Virgil who was doing all he could to help his brother come to terms with all that had happened. Barclay Bear had been lost and found so many times even Alan had lost count. Next-door's dog had chewed part of an ear off and the bear had lost his original shirt - a replica of the baseball team's - when some of Virgil's paint had mysteriously spilled all over it. It had fallen to Grandma to do what she could to repair the damage and the bear had been carefully mended several times, one eye replaced with a button and a tiny knitted sweater covering a singed patch of fur on his chest.

Jeff had finally had to put a stop to it all, having returned exhausted from a business trip only to be immediately confronted by a sobbing Alan complaining to him that Gordon and Virgil were being mean to Barclay again. The detached leg Alan was waving at him at the time added weight to his argument and the other two boys had been told that from now on Barclay was strictly off-limits. Alan had been ordered to keep the bear in his own room and only bring him out when they went to see their team play. The arrangement had worked well ever since, though Gordon in particular had continued to harbour a real hatred of the bear. Jeff, without a superstitious bone in his body, couldn't help wondering why his boys got so worked up about a stuffed toy.

Alan's insistence at the end of the game that Barclay had once again brought them luck was ignored by his brothers as they debated how they were getting home.

"I don't mind taking the kids," John said. "If Virg isn't man enough to come with me..."

Before Virgil could respond to that one, Gordon piped up with the predictable retort that he wasn't a kid.

"I'm competing in the senior championship next week."

"Gordon, we know," John told him. "You don't talk about anything else."

"You wait till I win," Gordon told him. "Then I'll have something to talk about."

"Gords, you're the youngest in the competition," Virgil reminded him. "Some of those guys are twice the size of you."

"But I'm twice as fast," the thirteen-year-old informed him. "It's speed that counts, Virg and my times are easily as good as theirs. I'm going to beat them, you'll see."

Jeff couldn't help feeling uneasy as he shepherded his sons towards his car. Gordon's prowess in the pool had come as something as a surprise. He'd had a long talk with the boy's coach a couple of weeks ago when he'd come to pick him up from a training session. The man had been thrilled that Gordon had even qualified for the championships - the youngest ever to do so. He had a chance of winning, that was for sure - anything could happen on the day and Gordon's times were indeed up there with the best of the older boys - but he worried that Gordon was taking too much for granted in his absolute insistence that he was going to be victorious. He'd annihilated the opposition in the local heats, but the state finals were a completely different matter and he hadn't yet had to face any of the more experienced swimmers, two of whom had been selected for the national squad. Dealing with defeat would be a new experience for Gordon and, whilst Jeff hoped he didn't have to face that hurdle, he had to agree with his mother that the boy was becoming worryingly over-confident. Positive thinking was all very well, but Jeff had never appreciated arrogance.

He reminded his son of this as he waited for Alan to get in. Virgil had dived into the passenger's seat the moment Jeff had activated the lock, much to John's amusement. Gordon rolled his eyes and Jeff knew his words had fallen on deaf ears.

"I want you to win, son, you know that," he said. "And I'll be cheering louder than anyone all through the race. But as hard as you've been working, the other guys will have been doing the same. They're bigger and stronger, remember. You're going to need a lot of luck on the day."

Gordon laughed. "I've got my lucky towel, Dad. I'll be fine."

As they set off - Jeff having to wait for John as he stalled his car twice before finally getting going - Alan sat quietly in his seat. He'd overheard Grandma talking on the phone to Scott a few days ago. They too had been worried that Gordon was in for a reality-check. Alan didn't want his brother to lose and he'd been wondering what he could do to help. Now he knew. So his father thought Gordon was going to need luck? Well Alan knew one way to ensure that was exactly what he got.

The date of the championship arrived and Gordon had never felt more like a winner than when he walked out to the poolside ready to take his place on the starting block. Everything in the build-up had gone perfectly. He'd steadfastly refused Grandma's best desserts for the past month in favour of something a little less heavy on the calories, upped his training regime as instructed by his coach and gone to bed at 8pm every night for the last week in order to be in top form for the championship. His father had driven him and the rest of the family over to Wichita the day before but he'd dutifully stayed in the hotel room with Grandma that evening whilst the rest of the family had taken a tour of the city.

They'd passed the time with a phone call to Scott, the eldest brother devastated that he wasn't going to be there to see his brother in action but unable to take a break from his studies. In the meantime, John had promised to record the race and Scott swore he'd be cheering Gordon on from his room and that he'd speak to him as soon as he could afterwards. He'd kept his doubts to himself when Gordon informed him he'd be speaking to the state champion, not wanting to harm his brother's preparations. He just hoped Gordon was right.

Gordon _knew_ he was right. He'd sailed through the heats, qualifying second-fastest for the final, knowing he still had plenty left in reserve. One more race - and the only competitor he really had to worry about was Josh Eaton. He cast a sideways glance at the older boy - he had three years on Gordon, not to mention being two feet taller and a good foot or so wider at the shoulders. Gordon refused to be intimidated as Eaton caught his eye and grinned at him even as he held up one finger then pointed at himself. _This is mine, kid,_ he silently mouthed. _Your turn next year_. Gordon just rolled his eyes and laughed. It was his turn _today_, he could feel it.

He turned his gaze onto the crowd and waved at his family, wishing Scott was there but grateful to the others for their support. Virgil, especially, since his brother had his own big event in a week's time - an audition for the state orchestra. Gordon knew his brother was going to have to work even harder now to make up for the missed lessons and practice time and he made a silent promise to him that he'd go along to support him at the audition despite his dislike of classical music. Not that Virgil would need his support, he thought. His brother was brilliant and, despite his characteristic nerves and constant insistence that they only needed one pianist and he didn't stand a chance of getting the place, Gordon had every faith in his brother - after all, he was a Tracy and Tracys didn't come second.

Unslinging his lucky towel from his shoulders, he handed it to his coach before pulling his goggles into place. In his mind he was already racing: leaving the opposition in his wake, touching the side seconds before Eaton then pulling himself out of the water to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd...

The _snap_ as the elastic on his goggles gave way surprised him even more than the sharp sting as it caught his cheek. Suddenly all thoughts of victory were gone and his only concern was to get his kit sorted. There were only seconds left before the race began and he turned to his coach, waving the broken goggles frantically.

His coach grabbed a random pair from his bag and flung them at Gordon. There wasn't time to adjust them - the starter had called them to the blocks and the other swimmers were already in position. Tugging them into place and wincing as they pinched the bridge of his nose, he tried to focus on the race once again, but the damage was done, his concentration was shattered.

The starting pistol sounded and he was off, but he knew he'd hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. Even so, he put his all into the race. His time was a personal best and would have broken the state junior record - but Eaton was just a tenth of a second quicker. Gordon couldn't take any pleasure in his achievement. Second was nowhere as far as he was concerned and, as if losing wasn't bad enough, he suddenly realised that shouting his mouth off about his guaranteed victory wasn't going to make his defeat any easier to bear. His family wouldn't tease him - well, Alan probably would, but then Alan teased him about everything - but he'd have to face his friends and schoolmates too, some of whom had already commented that he was getting too full of himself. But he'd been capable of winning, he really had. If only he hadn't lost his focus at the start.

He pulled off the borrowed goggles, wincing as they stuck fast for a moment before peeling away, knowing that he'd have red marks on his face for hours. He still couldn't believe his bad luck. If it hadn't been for that piece of elastic he'd have won. Such a stupid thing to cost him the championship...

He forced a smile as he received the runners-up medal, doing his best not to let the smile slip as he accepted the congratulations of the other swimmers who all assured him he'd go one better next year. He shook Eaton's hand then trudged towards the changing room, barely responding to his coach's words of commiseration. He was relieved when he was left alone to dry himself off and get dressed before grabbing his kit bag and setting off to find his family.

Half an hour later, sitting in the small canteen which overlooked the pool, Gordon was feeling a little better. No one had laughed at him or told him it served him right for being too confident. Grandma had hugged and kissed him, his father and brothers had all been there with a hand on the shoulder or a pat on the back and Scott had given him one of his classic oldest-brother pep talks via the phone. There was always next year, they kept saying, and Gordon, as much as he'd have preferred it to be _this_ year, was beginning to recover his old confidence.

"You're quiet, Alan," Virgil said.

Gordon looked across at his younger brother. The ten-year-old was indeed surprisingly subdued. Gordon felt a pang of guilt - surely the kid wasn't this affected by him losing the race? He felt himself growing miserable again. So much for his family telling him he hadn't let them down - Alan clearly believed he had.

"Al?" John called, reaching out to poke the boy in the ribs when he continued to stare into space.

"Huh?" Alan visibly jumped. "Sorry."

"What do you want to do now, Gordon?" Jeff asked. "We could go back to the hotel or take a look around the city. Your choice."

Gordon gazed out at the pool. "Actually I'd like to hang around here for a while. Tim hasn't raced yet. I'd like to see how he does."

"When's he on?" John asked.

"Not sure. It should say in the programme. Anyone got one?"

"I have," Alan said, reaching for his rucksack. He turned away from Gordon as he rummaged around, only for Virgil, who was sitting on the other side, to suddenly draw in a sharp breath.

"Al? You didn't..."

"Didn't what?" John asked.

Alan was staring dumbly at Virgil, shaking his head in desperation as his elder brother tugged the bag out of his hands. "No, Virgil, please. Don't-"

Gordon had been watching his brothers in amusement, but when Virgil pulled a familiar item out of the bag the reason for his defeat became clear. Disbelief turned to rage and he lost all rational thought. Alan only had time to get half a _sorry_ out before Gordon jumped on him, a fist already pulled back. Both boys crashed onto the floor as Jeff, John and Virgil dived in to separate them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jeff hissed as he pulled a struggling Gordon away from his brother. His hands were shaking - of all the fights he'd broken up between his boys, he'd never seen anything like this, or witnessed any one of them as blindly furious as Gordon was right now.

Alan was hiding behind his grandmother who, like Jeff, looked shaken as she reached down and picked Barclay Bear up from the floor where Virgil had dropped him as he'd tried to shield Alan from Gordon's fists. She sighed and shook her head as she met her youngest grandson's eye.

"It's all that bear's fault!" Gordon snarled. "You cost me the championship, Alan. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

"Gordon, that's enough!" Jeff kept one arm tight around his son and reached for his jacket with the other, turning scarlet as he registered the stares the family were being given. "Everyone, back to the hotel. I don't want to deal with this in public."

"I can't believe you did that," Virgil said to Alan as he watched his father half-drag Gordon away. "You know how he feels about that bear."

"But I thought he would be lucky," Alan whimpered, clearly still stunned by Gordon's attack.

"Yeah, real lucky," John agreed as he got to his feet. "You know how irrational Gordon is when it comes to Barclay. You might have meant well but he's not going to forget this, Alan."

Gordon certainly wasn't prepared to forget it. No amount of rationalisation from Jeff could shake his belief that it was Barclay's malign influence which had ruined his dream. After a lengthy lecture from his father he was sent to bed, a quick reorganisation of the sleeping arrangements in the suite meaning that he got Virgil for a room-mate instead of Alan, Jeff and Grandma agreeing that the pair needed to be kept well apart until things cooled down.

The youngest Tracy had done his best to keep his head down but he too was called to his father's room, emerging red-eyed some ten minutes later. All his protests that he'd been trying to help Gordon and that he'd been the innocent victim of his brother's attack had fallen on deaf ears, Jeff reminding him of his promise that Barclay should only leave his room for baseball matches.

Gordon, too, was quick to remind him about his broken promise when they finally got back home. It was the first time he'd spoken to Alan since the fight, despite the best efforts of all the others to heal the breach. Not even Scott had managed it - Gordon had simply disconnected the call as soon as his brother had suggested forgiving Alan, insisting that the boy had meant well.

"So, Alan," he said when the four brothers were sitting in the lounge, John and Virgil making sure to keep themselves in between the feuding pair. "Looks like the deal's off."

"It is?" Alan whispered.

"Yeah. You broke your promise. Now I get to do anything I like to that bear. He's not going to ruin my life again. I don't care where you hide him, I'm going to find him and then he's going to be history."

Alan squeaked in real apprehension - an enraged Gordon with his hands round his throat had been frightening enough, but this cold fury was worse. Muttering something unintelligible, he fled from the room with only one thought in mind - to save Barclay.

It was only Grandma's insistence on a return to normality that got them through the next couple of days. Gordon had remained uncharacteristically sullen at first, still smarting at the loss of the championship and still swearing vengeance on Barclay. Not even the combined forces of Jeff, Grandma, Scott and John could convince him that blaming a stuffed toy for his misery was just irrational.

Virgil had been Gordon's partner in crime when Barclay had suffered so many indignities in the days after their trauma at the stadium, and he kept quiet on the subject. Gordon guessed this was one of those times the two sides of his brother's personality would come into conflict - the artist would accept the possibility of Barclay being unlucky, whilst the engineer would dismiss the idea as ludicrous. In the end Gordon gave up. He even managed to be civil to Alan, though his brother was unusually reluctant to let him into his room, convinced that Gordon only wanted to get his hands on Barclay. Unsurprisingly, Alan didn't believe his brother's wide-eyed insistence that the others had talked some sense into him and that he no longer believed the bear wielded any kind of power. When, a few days after the championships, he returned home from a go-karting session to find the things in his room ever so slightly out of place, he knew his brother had been searching for Barclay, and he was pleased he'd hidden him somewhere where Gordon would never think to look. He couldn't leave him there indefinitely, but Barclay was safe where he was for another day or so and Gordon wasn't going to get his hands on that bear, not when there were baseball championships at stake.

Virgil had hardly put in an appearance at the family home since their return from Wichita. Between extra piano lessons and long hours staying behind after school to paint scenery for the forthcoming drama production, he'd been up to his eyes. That Wednesday evening he'd headed straight out to his workshop to fit a new wing mirror to John's car before heading off for another extended piano lesson at the home of his teacher, Mr Watson.

Grandma was preparing dinner and chatting to Alan and - a thankfully more cheerful - Gordon when the phone rang. She answered it and listened for a moment, her expression changing to one of distress, much to the concern of her watching grandsons.

"Oh my, that's terrible. The poor, poor man... Thank you for letting us know... No, no, I'm sure he'll manage. It's just one of those things... Yes, let me know what happens. Goodbye, Mrs Watson."

"Well," she said, replacing the receiver. "Virgil's piano teacher has been hit by a car."

"Is he okay?" Alan asked, then paled suddenly as a thought struck him. "It wasn't John was it?"

"No, Alan, John's upstairs." Grandma glared at her grandson for a moment before continuing. "He'll be in hospital for the next few days. Poor man."

"What about Virgil's lessons?" Gordon asked. "There's not going to be time to find another teacher before the auditions."

"I'd better go and break the news," Grandma said. "It's not going to help his preparation, though I really don't see how he can learn anything new between now and Saturday. It's just a matter of practising and he can do that here."

"He won't be happy," Gordon said. "Believe me, I know how hard it is to cope when something disrupts your preparation for a big contest." He grew suddenly quiet, the misery of his defeat washing over him once again.

"Well it can't be helped," Grandma said as she made her way to the door. "Though as much as I love to hear Virgil play, I have to admit that hearing the same piece ten times over can be just a little wearing. Never mind, we can put up with it for a few days, I'm sure. Now you boys keep an eye on that oven for me while I go and talk to your brother."

When she'd gone, Gordon eyed his brother for a moment before turning his gaze to the one remaining cookie on the plate in front of them. "Want half?"

"No, you have it." Alan slipped down from his chair and, ignoring his brother's look of surprise, hurried out of the room, making his way to the lounge. He'd just reached the piano and raised the cover, reaching in to grab something, when a voice behind him made him jump.

"What are you doing?"

Alan turned nervously, quickly shoving his hand behind his back. Not quickly enough, it seemed, as Gordon crossed the room towards him, the same angry look on his face that Alan had last seen in Wichita.

"I knew you were up to something when you let me have that cookie. Is that what I think it is?"

"No."

"Yes it is! Alan! You hid that bear in Virgil's piano."

"Didn't."

"Did. I can see his leg sticking out."

Alan stared at his brother defiantly. "Well I had to hide him somewhere. You were going to hurt him."

"Not as much as Virg will hurt you when he finds you've been messing with his piano. You know it's off-limits."

"It was the safest place I could think of. Virg hasn't played it for a week, he's been doing all his practice at Mr Watson's."

"But now he will. And that creature's been in there working his evil magic. God knows what he's done to the piano. And that's the best we can hope for. What if he goes for Virgil? If you've screwed up his chances with this orchestra..."

"Don't be stupid, Gordon. I keep telling you, Barclay's lucky."

"Alan, look what happened when you brought him to the championships. I don't care what you say, that bear's dangerous. Look what happened to Mr Watson. I just hope that's all that goes wrong."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I'm not going to tell him. You know the state Virg gets in when he has to perform. If he knows Barclay's got it in for him he'll probably give himself a heart attack from the worry."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get that bear for a start!" Gordon lunged at Alan, only for his brother to dive behind the piano. A fruitless but energetic chase around the instrument ensured, only to be broken up by the arrival of John who watched his brothers in amusement for a minute or two before catching sight of Barclay and deciding it was time to break it up.

A minute later, Alan had fled from the room clutching Barclay tightly whilst Gordon fidgeted on the couch as John patiently explained once again that the bear had no influence whatsoever on current or future events.

"Face it, Gordon," he said. "We're not a lucky family. Okay, our dad's got money and we don't want for anything. But our mother died, our brother was kidnapped - in fact we all got some experience of that kind of thing. You losing the championship isn't that big a deal when you compare it with those things. Will you please just see sense?"

"You don't-"

Gordon's reply was cut off by the sound of a crash from upstairs. He leapt to his feet and dashed up the stairs, closely followed by his brother.

"What did you do?" Gordon reached the open door of John's room and stared at Alan who stood white-faced and shaking whilst John's beloved telescope lay in pieces around him.

"Alan?" John was clearly doing his best not to yell. He stood at the doorway, not trusting himself to take a step closer. "My telescope..."

"I thought I could hide Barclay in the window seat," Alan said quietly. "I didn't think you'd mind. But I tripped and..." He flapped his hands hopelessly at the broken equipment

"Told you he was unlucky," Gordon said cheerfully as John closed his eyes, counted to ten, then banged his head against the doorframe a couple of times before finally moving across to inspect the damage.

"Gordon, go away," he said. He pushed Alan's hands away as he bent down to help. "You too, Al. And take that bear with you. I don't care where you put it, but if I see it again I'm taking it for a ride in my car. And he won't be coming back."

Alan grabbed Barclay and fled. John began to put the telescope back together, relieved when everything seemed intact. "_It's nothing to do with the bear_," he muttered to himself.

"Sure about that?"

John looked up wearily. "You still there, Gordon?"

"Don't worry, you're probably safe. That bear wasn't in your room long enough to do much damage. But what about Virgil? Barclay was in that piano for days."

"Okay." John got to his feet. "So even if Barclay does bring bad luck - which he doesn't by the way, all this was just Alan being his usual clumsy self - surely it's over and done with now Mr Watson's in hospital."

"Maybe," Gordon said. "Or maybe not. I'm not going to rest easy until that audition is over and Virg makes it into the orchestra. Help me out, Johnny? We've got to make sure nothing happens to our brother over the next few days."

Despite John's promise that he'd keep an eye out for his brother - just as he always did - Gordon still wasn't happy. He wasn't convinced his brother truly appreciated just how dangerous Barclay Bear could be - and Virgil had been instrumental in tormenting him just as much as Gordon had. Gordon couldn't help thinking that the bear was finally ready to take his revenge.

Virgil was too distracted by the thought of his upcoming audition to notice that Gordon's behaviour was more than a little erratic over the next couple of days. When Grandma decided he was spending too much time at the piano and kicked him out into the garden with instructions not to come back in until he'd dead-headed her roses, Gordon was there to take over the job, telling his brother that the last thing he needed was for a thorn to get stuck in his hand or to take a finger off with the shears. Virgil laughed, but he happily obeyed his brother's instruction to 'sit down and do a nice painting instead' - he'd never been a big fan of gardening.

When he came home hungry after visiting Mr Watson in hospital only to find Grandma had been delayed at her ladies' group meeting, he decided to make himself a sandwich. Gordon was the one who pushed him away, taking up the knife himself and announcing that he'd make something for both of them. Alan wasn't happy when he came in just as Gordon was finishing up and had his request for a share denied, but he didn't push it, still being somewhat wary of his brother. Gordon, having scoured the house from top to bottom for Barclay, only to be told by Grandma that she'd locked the bear in Jeff's safe until all this nonsense was over, had given up for now, although he swore to Alan that once Virgil's audition was out of the way - whatever the outcome - he'd get that bear.

But despite Gordon's fears no mishaps befell Virgil and the day of his audition arrived with both hands in full working order. Not that Gordon felt able to relax, sure that Barclay would make his move at any moment. He hovered nervously at the door of the lounge as Virgil ran through his audition pieces for the umpteenth time, doing his best to calm his brother down every time he broke off to announce that he was hopeless, he was pulling out, that there was no way he could face the judges.

Grandma had gone shopping, promising to be back in order to prepare an early lunch so she could drive Virgil to the venue - a high school in a town an hour's drive away. But 12.30 - the absolute latest time she could return in order to sort out the meal and leave on time - came and went, with still no sign of the old lady.

Virgil hadn't noticed and was currently sitting on his piano stool with his head in his hands slowly rocking backwards and forwards. Gordon on the other hand, had been clock-watching for the last hour. Something was wrong, he knew it. He was just about to go and consult John when the phone rang.

"Gordon?"

"Grandma? Where are you?" Gordon kept his voice down to a whisper, just in case Virgil should suddenly decide to come back to reality and realise there was a problem.

"My car broke down. They can't work out what's wrong with it."

Gordon knew what the problem was and - not for the first time - he cursed the day they'd bought Barclay. But right now, finding a solution was more important than having another argument with his grandmother about the bear. She sounded stressed enough as it was and the damage was done now. The only trouble was, he had a feeling he knew what his grandmother was about to suggest.

"Tell John he'll have to drive," Grandma said. "I know Virgil won't like it but if he wants to get into the orchestra he doesn't have much choice. How is he?"

Gordon risked a glance back into the lounge. Virgil hadn't moved. "I don't think he's noticed you're not here. But he's going to flip when he finds out John has to take him."

"It's unfortunate, but it's just one of those things. Now then, I have to go - the mechanic wants a word. Tell John to drive carefully and get Virgil to call me once you're on your way."

She rang off leaving Gordon wondering how he was going to get Virgil through this - himself too, since he'd insisted on going along. He couldn't abandon his brother now, though the thought of an hour-long drive with John had him quaking. Heaven knew what it would do to Virgil. Replacing the receiver, he shot upstairs to break the news to his blond brother.

John had risen to the occasion in style, taking a moment to think things through before instructing Gordon to keep an eye on Virgil while he got ready. Then he headed out to get his car. Focusing in a way he hadn't since his driving test - despite Scott's suspicions that he had a fake licence, he really had earned it the traditional way - he brought the car as close to the front door as he could manage then made his way back inside.

"Time to go, Virg," he announced, then tried not to laugh as the little colour left in Virgil's cheeks drained away. It was an easy matter for John and Gordon to pull him up from the piano seat and steer him towards the door. Virgil did his best to make a break for it but his brothers were ready for him, keeping a tight hold as they frogmarched him out of the house.

Years of seeing the state he got into before any kind of performance had shown his family that, as intelligent as Virgil might be under normal circumstances, at times like this his brain seemed to turn to jelly. He was so busy protesting that he didn't want to go after all that he didn't even realise he'd been shoved into John's car until his brother had settled himself in the driver's seat and locked the doors. Virgil let out a howl of terror and flung himself at the door, doing his best to escape and only giving up when John put his foot down and sped off, the wheels spinning and the car fishtailing across the drive before he got it back under control. Virgil froze for a moment before abandoning his efforts to get out, instead frantically fumbling for the seat belt.

"Grandma's car broke down," Gordon told him as he double-checked his own belt was secure.

John tossed his phone into the back. "Call her. She's real sorry she can't come with you. But there's no time to go and get her, not if you need to be there for two."

Grandma's pep talk took the edge of Virgil's panic and he finally leaned back and closed his eyes, something he always did when he went driving with John - it was less stressful if you didn't see the near-misses.

Gordon wasn't enjoying himself either. He couldn't help wishing he'd let Virgil take his chances with the knives and the roses - a damaged finger had to be better than dying in a car wreck. Trying to divert his attention, he looked across at his pale-faced brother.

"Virg, instead of worrying that it's all going to go wrong, why don't you do what I do before a race?"

"What's that?" Virgil cracked open an eye and looked across at his brother.

"Visualise everything going well."

Ignoring Virgil's grumbles that it was a waste of time because everything was _not_ going to go well, Gordon thought for a moment then began.

"Okay, you're walking into the room. And there's a real hot girl sitting there with the judges. She likes you, Virg. She's smiling at you."

"All the judges are over sixty," Virgil told him.

"Not today." Gordon refused to be put off. "You're sitting down, opening your music..."

Virgil sat bolt upright. "My music! We left it behind."

"No we didn't," John said, as slowly and calmly as he could manage given he was trying to find his way onto the freeway at the time and a truck was refusing to let him through. "I picked it up. It's right here."

Virgil relaxed a little as he spotted his music case. "I thought this was supposed to be calming me down," he muttered to Gordon.

"It will. Now sit back and close your eyes. Okay... hot girl, music all present and correct. You put your hands on the keys and start to play. You're playing better than you've ever done before. The judges are smiling. You know you've got it in the bag... Huh? Now what's wrong?"

Virgil's eyes had snapped open and he had a look of terror on his face the likes of which Gordon had never seen before. "The piano caught fire!"

Gordon raised his hands in despair. "Okay, I give up. Maybe the visualisation thing isn't for you."

"Just give me my music," Virgil demanded, taking his case and pulling out the score, flipping through the pages and occasionally humming a few bars, his fingers playing an imaginary keyboard.

In fairness to John, his freeway driving wasn't that bad. So long as all he had to do was point the car in a straight line and keep going, he was as competent as the next man. But driving in an unfamiliar town knowing that he only had twenty minutes to get his brother to his destination would have stressed anyone out. Virgil had closed his eyes again and Gordon had been forced to prise the sheets of music out of his brother's hands before they were twisted beyond redemption.

"Nearly there," John announced, ignoring the screeching of brakes and blaring of horns from his left. "You feeling okay, Virg?"

"No."

It was no surprise to anyone when, the moment John pulled to a stop just an inch from a rather large tree, Virgil dived out of the car and disappeared into some bushes, emerging a minute or so later looking even paler.

"Here." Gordon handed him a water bottle. Then he and John had to grab their brother again as, for the first time in his life, Virgil tried to scramble _into_ John's car. Between them they marched him into the venue, got him registered and took a seat with the other hopefuls.

All the fight had gone out of Virgil as he sat staring at the floor so, confident that his brother wasn't going to try to make another run for it, Gordon gazed around at the other musicians. It seemed that they weren't just auditioning pianists given the wide variety of instruments he could see. A thin girl sitting across from them didn't seem to have anything with her and Gordon wondered if she too was a pianist. What she _did_ have with her - as did the vast majority of the others - was her mother, and Gordon felt a sudden pang of loss as he wondered what it would be like if he still had his own mother. She'd have protected them against Barclay, he thought, then wondered if the bear had some last-minute disaster planned. He'd never expected to make it to the venue, not even with Grandma driving. He just hoped Virgil's vision of the fiery piano hadn't been a premonition.

John's phone rang and first Grandma , then, once she'd hung up, a second call from Scott, helped distract Virgil until he was called in front of the judges. With a look of utter misery, he got up, smiling faintly at John and Gordon's words of encouragement and only getting his legs moving when John gave him a push.

Fifteen minutes later it was a completely different Virgil who emerged. The quivering wreck from earlier had disappeared and their brother was back to his usual self. Gordon and John couldn't help smiling at the difference.

"How'd it go?" Gordon asked.

"Okay, I think." Virgil shrugged. "I've played the Mozart better but the unseen piece they threw at me didn't go so badly. I didn't do well enough to get in but at least I didn't show myself up like I thought I would."

"Told you you'd be fine," John said. He leant over and cuffed Gordon across the head. "And I told _you_ that bear couldn't do anything to hurt Virg."

"Bear?" Virgil asked, flopping into a seat and yawning. He hadn't slept the previous night and now that the adrenaline had worn off he was exhausted.

John brought his brother up to speed. Virgil's eyes had narrowed dangerously at the news that Barclay had been hidden in his piano and Gordon couldn't help but feel pleased that when Alan returned from his weekend away with his best friend he'd have to face one angry older brother.

"So that's why you've been hovering over me the past few days," Virgil said.

"Yeah. Didn't want you hurting yourself."

"Thanks, Gords." Virgil looked genuinely touched.

"So now do you accept that bear has no power to influence events?" John asked.

"Ah, but how do you explain Grandma's car?" Gordon asked. "And Mr Watson's accident?"

"Coincidence. These things happen. Now then, I don't know about you two but I missed lunch and I'm hungry. Coming to get some food before we head home?"

Virgil paled again at the prospect of another hour-long drive with his brother, but he had to admit he was starving. He'd only picked at his breakfast. He decided he'd go to sleep on the way back - that way if they crashed he wouldn't know anything about it and at least he wouldn't die hungry. It wasn't as if he'd go without knowing the results of the audition - he'd played well, but he knew it wouldn't have been good enough.

It was a genuine shock when a week later the letter arrived to tell him he'd made it into the orchestra. Of course, no one else was surprised, least of all Grandma. She'd beamed with pride and whipped up one of her most decadent chocolate cakes to celebrate. Alan hadn't been particularly impressed, but he'd taken the opportunity to point out to Gordon that their brother's success surely proved that Barclay wasn't some kind of bad luck charm after all. Gordon wasn't convinced, but he agreed to a truce on the old terms, Barclay staying safely hidden in Alan's room, only to be brought out for baseball games. He still couldn't help but mistrust the bear, but Virgil seemed to have escaped unscathed, so Gordon decided the bear must just have it in for him.

But there were no more disasters and there followed a surprisingly calm and peaceful couple of months in the Tracy household. Gordon threw himself into his training regime with even more commitment than before, swearing that next year he'd be unbeatable, and Virgil began learning the various pieces of music he'd be playing with the orchestra.

Grandma was busy with her church group as they prepared for their annual charity fundraiser. One Saturday afternoon, knowing that she was holding a committee meeting in the house, John and Gordon had made themselves scarce, John settling under a tree with a book, Gordon taking himself off for a run. He preferred training in water, but anything was preferable to having to be on his best behaviour as he served coffee to Grandma's elderly friends as they sat in her rarely-used sitting room, into which the boys were only allowed on special occasions. Alan had that honour today - and the stress of making sure he didn't spill so much as a drop on the cream carpet. Virgil had announced that he would be spending the day working on an art project for school the moment Grandma had told them about her visitors, and had taken himself off to his workshop.

Gordon flung himself down beside his blond brother when he returned home and the two remained under the tree in a companionable silence for a while, one reading, the other half-asleep. Finally, hearing car doors slam and engines start up, the boys decided it was safe to make a move back to the house, hoping to grab a share of any remaining cake before Virgil and Alan could get to it.

Two cars remained in the driveway as they approached the front door, their owners still chatting. Gordon didn't know one of them, and the thought struck him that she was younger than his grandmother's usual circle of friends, but the older lady was well-known to him and he pulled John behind a tree rather than have to face the inevitable list of questions about his grandmother and the rest of the family. The woman was a notorious gossip and she seemed to have found a kindred spirit in the other woman. Gordon and John hadn't intended to listen in on their conversation, but they soon found themselves drawn in.

"I don't know, Clara," the younger woman said. "I know Ruth won't hear a word about her grandsons but I don't trust that boy. Something's bound to go wrong."

"That'll be you," John whispered to Gordon, receiving a poke in the ribs for his trouble. But as the woman carried on and the subject of the conversation was revealed, both boys stared at each other in utter disbelief. _Virgil?_ Surely he was the least troublesome of them all?

"Say what you will, I don't believe a child can have an experience like that and not end up damaged in some way. Mark my words, that boy's unstable."

Gordon was all ready to defend his brother, but John, as angry as he was on his brother's behalf, could also see the funny side, and he whispered to Gordon to keep quiet so they could hear more.

"Oh I agree, dear. One of my grand-daughters saw him beat up a classmate just after it all happened. She doesn't trust him even now."

"Well it's a shame the rest of the committee don't see it our way. But if things go wrong, Ruth will only have herself to blame. I hear the redhead's a troublemaker, too, always being held back after school."

John found it even harder to hold back the laughter as he caught sight of Gordon's look of indignation. All he could do was reach out and hold his brother back before he decided to do something to cement his dismal reputation even more firmly.

"The eldest's a nice boy. So good-looking and never given Ruth a day's trouble. The youngest's a dear little thing, too. But those other two..."

With a final shake of their heads the women got into their cars and drove off.

John let go of Gordon and the pair of them stepped out from behind their tree.

"How do you like that?" Gordon asked. "She called me a troublemaker. Me!"

"Yeah. Well she got you and Scott pegged right at least." John ignored his brother's withering look. "Poor old Virg, though. I never knew he had that kind of reputation."

"At least he's got one," Gordon commented as he pulled his brother along towards the house. "How come you didn't get a mention?"

"Because I'm the quiet, mysterious one," John informed him.

They burst into the kitchen only to be pulled up sharply at the sight of Grandma sitting at the table with another one of her friends, a bottle of sherry in front of them and two glasses already half-empty.

"Hey, Aunt Barbara," Gordon grinned. This was one old lady he liked. "Any cake for me?"

"Here you go, Gordon. Nicely timed as usual. I wish I could have skipped the last hour. All those women want to do is argue." Barbara reached for the sherry bottle and topped up her glass.

"Who was the young one?" John asked.

"Young one?" Grandma replied, cutting them each a generous slice of carrot cake. "We're all the same age, dear. It's so hard to get the younger women interested in the church these days."

"No, this one was definitely younger. About thirty-five. Black hair, high heels..."

"Oh..." Grandma and Barbara exchanged knowing looks. "That's Lydia Harris. She's our age too, dear. She just hasn't come to terms with getting old. The amount of plastic in that woman's body..."

"Oh come on, Ruth," Barbara said. "Lydia's always looked thirty-five, boys, even when we were all sixteen and she was making moves on your grandfather. He was quite the catch, you know.  
We were all insanely jealous of your grandmother. Poor Lydia was furious when he turned her down. But then she'd never have been happy as a farmer's wife. Me neither. But oh my, the muscles in those arms..."

"Thank you, Barbara." To the boys' disappointment Grandma cut her friend off. "Lydia went to live in California after her husband died. She moved back a few months ago. Unfortunately..."

"She's got it in for Virgil," Gordon said between mouthfuls of cake.

"Really?"

John explained what they'd overheard. Grandma listened with a steely look in her eye, but Barbara laughed. "She's just jealous. We've been discussing the plans for the charity dinner next month. Lydia wanted her grand-daughter to play the violin for us, but Ruth suggested Virgil should play. After all, he is part of the state junior orchestra. Hayley's two years older and she's never even been called for an audition."

"Hayley Grainger?" John asked.

"That's right. Do you know her, John? She'd be about your age. Lydia never stops going on about what a wonderful girl she is."

"Oh I know her," John said with a smile. "Although I doubt her grandmother does if that's what she thinks of her."

"Oh yes?" Grandma and Barbara both leaned forward.

"Yeah. She's spent the last year working her way through the football team. And the track squad. Actually, she's kind of hot. I'm hoping one day she'll run out of jocks and take a chance on a science geek."

"John!" But Grandma couldn't help the twinkle in her eye.

Barbara laughed. "There you go, Ruth. Next time Lydia insults one of your boys, hit her with that."

"Oh, I'm sure I'd never stoop to her level, dear," Grandma replied. "Now then, Gordon, put the kettle on, would you."

As he did so, a thought struck Gordon. "So is Virg okay with playing for your dinner?"

"Your brother's easily bought, Gordon. Chocolate cake and apple pie get him every time."

"I'm not surprised," Barbara said. "To think Lydia suggested hiring caterers. Most people only buy tickets to get a taste of your baking."

Grandma blushed as John and Gordon agreed.

Jeff had been out of the country on business for several weeks. He returned to a quiet but heartfelt welcome from Grandma, his sons all still at school. He took the opportunity to savour the peace and quiet as he chatted with his mother in the kitchen.

"Has there been any more nonsense about that bear?" he asked.

"No, thankfully. I worry about Gordon sometimes, you know. He won't listen to reason when it comes to Barclay."

"He'll be alright," Jeff said. "I guess all good sportsmen need their superstitions."

Grandma put her coffee cup down and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm a little worried about Virgil," she finally said.

"What's wrong with him?" Jeff asked. "He's sounded fine when I've talked to him on the phone."

"It's probably nothing. But he's been a little quiet lately. He says everything's alright, but I'm not so sure. See what you think."

Jeff agreed to do so, but he couldn't see anything wrong with his son when they all sat around the dinner table later that evening, then his time was taken up with John and the second-eldest's preparations for college. When he finally came back downstairs it was to find Gordon and Alan playing some computer game in the lounge but no sign of Virgil.

"He's still in the workshop?" Jeff asked. It wasn't unusual to have to prise Virgil away from some piece of artwork and he moved towards the door to go and find his son, only for Grandma to call him back.

"Wait a moment, Jeff," she ordered, bustling around to prepare hot chocolate and toast. "Now then, take these and try to find out what's bothering him."

With a couple of mugs in one hand and a plate in the other, Jeff had a hard time getting into the workshop. The loud music coming from inside didn't help either since Virgil couldn't hear him calling. Intending to put his burdens down before opening the door, he glanced in at the window, pausing at the sight before him.

Virgil sat on the workbench, staring intently at his work. Jeff had been expecting to see a painting but his son seemed to be working on some kind of sculpture. He didn't quite know what to make of the part of it he could see. Standing more or less the same height as Virgil, one side was smooth and ordered, all curves and flush fittings, beautifully painted and polished. The other was jagged and wild. Slices of metal stuck out at all angles, and much of what Jeff could see was rusty and worn. But it was his son who took most of his attention. Jeff had always found it fascinating to watch Virgil when he was creating something. It wasn't exhilarating and nerve-racking as it was when he was cheering Gordon on in a swimming race or Alan when he was competing on his go-kart, but in its own way, it was just as compelling. Jeff didn't have an artistic bone in his body – Virgil had got all that from Lucy – and he found the whole creative process totally mystifying. But seeing his son concentrating so intensely, watching as a few lines on a plain canvas gradually became a portrait or a landscape, or, as now, a pile of junk manifested itself into some kind of order, he felt a real sense of awe and a genuine pride in his son's achievements.

Virgil was different when he was in a creative mood – he lost himself in some dream world from which he would only emerge when the work was complete. Jeff had seen it a hundred times - but so had his mother and she surely wouldn't have mentioned any concerns unless something was really wrong. Virgil hadn't realised his father was watching and carried on completely unconsciously. It wasn't unusual to see him just sitting and staring at his work, just as he was doing now, but what struck Jeff this time, and made him realise that his mother had indeed picked up on something, was his son's body language. His usual focus was magnified – the tension palpable even through the window. That wasn't like Virgil – as hard as he worked on a project, it usually brought him some peace, some means of relaxation. Noting his son's rigid shoulders Jeff knew that that wasn't happening right now.

Virgil pushed himself off the bench, walked over and adjusted one of the metal rods poking out of the chaotic side of the work. He must have pushed it all of a couple of millimetres to the left before returning to the workbench. But no sooner had he sat down than he jumped up again, this time returning the rod to its original position.

Taking advantage of the end of the song, Jeff tapped against the glass with his elbow. Virgil visibly jumped before turning round and forcing a smile onto his face as he went to the door. Taking the plate and a mug he stood back to let his father in.

"I don't want to interrupt," Jeff said. Although agreeing with his mother that there was something up with the artist, he wasn't sure now was the time to bring it up, not when Virgil seemed so lost in his work.

"It's okay, Dad. I wasn't getting very far anyway."

Jeff walked over to inspect the work up close. He had to admit there was something powerful in its contrasting styles. He knew there was a message in there somewhere but he was reluctant to guess what it might be. Years of getting it completely wrong had made him nervous of even trying.

"It's interesting..." he said finally.

Virgil shot him a wry smile. "Go on, I know you're dying to ask."

Jeff smiled in return. "Okay, you got me again. What is it?"

The smile left Virgil's face and the tension Jeff had sensed earlier returned.

"It's my end of year art project for school. A self-portrait."

"Okay," Jeff said carefully, looking from his son to the sculpture and back again. There wasn't a lot of resemblance as far as he could see. "Want to tell me about it?"

Virgil turned down the music and cleared a space on the workbench so his father could sit next to him. Jeff sat patiently, waiting for his son to speak. But when he did he seemed to be avoiding the topic completely.

"How's John's application going?"

"Fine," Jeff said, hoping they weren't going to take too long to get to the point. But when Virgil sighed, his shoulders slumping, he wondered if they hadn't reached it already.

"It must be nice to know exactly what you want to do with your life," Virgil said slowly.

"Ah," Jeff said, looking back at the sculpture, things finally making sense. "So that's..."

"Yeah. I just feel like I'm being pulled in all directions, Dad. I've thought about engineering and I know you want me to -"

"Virgil, you can't choose a career based on what _I_ might want."

"I know. And I wouldn't. But I do know what you want. I just don't know what_ I_ want. If I hadn't got into the orchestra then it would have been easy - I'd have given up any ideas about studying music. But now, I just don't know. Then there's all this..." He waved a hand in the direction of his artwork. "I just can't decide."

"Well you're only fifteen," Jeff pointed out. "You don't have to make your mind up for a couple more years yet."

"I know. But the more I think about it the more confused I get. It doesn't help that none of the others seem to have this trouble."

"No," Jeff agreed. Scott, from the age of five, had insisted he was going to follow his father into the Air Force. John had always seen his future as lying out in space. Gordon had his swimming, though Jeff couldn't help wondering what he planned on doing once he hit middle-age, and Alan, well, he'd always been obsessed with cars and, despite the occasional announcement that he was going to be an astronaut or a fireman, he'd always stuck with his dream of becoming a racing driver. Jeff wasn't too worried though - there was plenty of time for his son to come round to the idea of something more sensible. Although, given that he'd spent his boyhood dreaming of going to the moon, maybe he shouldn't be so quick to judge...

He and Virgil talked through various options for the next half an hour. Jeff didn't think he'd helped his son come to any conclusions, but Virgil at least looked a bit happier as he thanked his father for listening.

"Whatever you choose to do, you know I'll support you," Jeff told him. He meant it too, though he couldn't help hoping Virgil didn't go for art or music. He debated sharing his latest crazy idea with his son, then decided against it. Virgil didn't need any added pressure and Jeff wanted him to choose a career out of desire, not duty. "Now then, it's late and you've got school tomorrow. Come on inside."

They shut up the workshop - Virgil carefully locking the door and pocketing the key. It was his domain, out-of-bounds to his two youngest brothers. Jeff slung an arm around his son's shoulders as they walked back to the house.

"You know," he said slowly. "Out of the six of us, you'd think someone would have made your grandmother happy and chosen farming..."

Grandma's preparations for her charity dinner moved on apace. Old ladies were frequently to be found in the kitchen pouring over recipe books, or gossiping away in Grandma's sitting room, and the boys, whether they wanted to or not, were drafted in by Grandma in to help look after them. If Virgil was a little puzzled at the way Lydia Harris shifted nervously away from him and frowned suspiciously at the cup of tea he handed her, he said nothing and John didn't enlighten him, instead asking casually after the woman's grand-daughter. This of course sparked off yet another lengthy monologue on Hayley's numerous achievements which had Grandma and Barbara rolling their eyes from the doorway before they escaped back to the kitchen to dig out the rapidly dwindling bottle of sherry which always seemed to make an appearance whenever Lydia turned up.

Finally the weekend of the dinner arrived. On the Friday, Grandma began a mammoth baking session. Eight large apple pies would be needed, plus one extra for Virgil. Like her grandson with his piano-playing, Grandma suffered acute nerves when cooking for anyone outside the family and the boys knew better than to bother her, only venturing into the kitchen when they were desperate for a snack or a drink. She was even more short-tempered than usual this year, since Lydia Harris seemed to be on the phone every five minutes checking that there were no last-minute hitches and sounding unconvinced when she was assured that all was well.

Virgil had taken himself off to his workshop and was putting the finishing touches to his project. He still hadn't made any decisions about his future, but if nothing else, his dilemma had allowed him to produce a piece of artwork of which he was truly proud. Though that in itself just made his decision even more difficult...

He studied the sculpture from all angles before moving it closer to the door so it caught the light better. It was almost there, he thought. Maybe just a few minor tweaks, but weeks of hard work and anguish were nearly over. Glancing at his watch he saw there was still an hour until they'd be leaving for that night's baseball game. He'd make a couple of changes to the piece before they left, he decided, but before that a snack was in order. Although he'd not long had dinner, he was - as usual - hungry again. Grandma had kept her promise and, hidden in a tin at the back of the pantry, was the remaining half of the chocolate cake she'd baked him as a thank you for providing the music for her dinner. He couldn't say he was looking forward to it, but the lure of an entire cake to himself with an apple pie to follow had been too great.

Gordon and Alan were looking forward to the game that night. The boys had long since regained their usual camaraderie - much to John and Virgil's despair at times - and, as long as they avoided mentioning a certain bear, they got on as well together as they ever had. Right now they were watching TV and counting the minutes until they could leave for the game. The smell of apples was beginning to permeate the house and the knowledge that they wouldn't be getting a taste of them was torture.

When they heard a car turn into the drive they jumped up and charged into the hall, yanking open the door in the expectation of seeing their father. However, it was just another old lady they didn't know, delivering a set of serving dishes. Alan took them and placed them on the hall table as Gordon shut the door then reached to pick up a baseball bat from the random pile of bats, umbrellas and tennis racquets which stood in the stand by the door. He pranced up and down the hallway imagining himself making his debut for his team, then struck a pose as Alan joined in and pretended to pitch a ball at him.

Gordon swung the bat back, ready to hit one of the greatest home runs the home crowd would ever witness, only to be brought up short at the sound of a sickening crunch as, instead of cutting smoothly through the air, the bat made contact with something that felt horribly like a brother. He vaguely registered Alan's wide-eyed look of shock as the boy started hollering for Grandma.

Spinning round, Gordon felt like he too had been hit with a baseball bat as he saw Virgil, glass of coke in one hand and a slice of chocolate cake in the other, stagger backwards through the door of Grandma's sitting room. He blinked at Gordon in bewilderment for a moment before his legs gave way and he dropped to a sitting position on the floor, coke spilling everywhere as the first drops of blood began to splatter over Grandma's prized cream carpet.

"Virg..." Gordon whispered in horror, the bat clattering to the floor as he took a step towards his brother. "Say something..."

Then Grandma was there, closely followed by John who'd heard Alan's scream from upstairs. Gordon was pushed aside as they rushed to Virgil.

"Gordon, get some ice," Grandma demanded and the boy fled to the kitchen, glad to get away for a moment and wishing he could just keep running. Grabbing a bag of frozen peas and a towel he ran back to the sitting room. He couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as Grandma pulled Virgil's hand away from his face to inspect the damage. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but his brother's nose was bruised and swollen and the skin around his eyes was already beginning to blacken.

"You broke his nose," Alan told Gordon, as if the older boy had needed his brother to tell him that.

"Come on, darling," Grandma said gently. "Let's get you to the hospital." She and John managed to get an unsteady Virgil onto his feet. Only then did they notice the state of the carpet. As well as the coke and blood, Gordon realised that he'd managed to tread chocolate cake into it when he'd charged in with the ice pack.

"I'll take Virg, Grandma," John said. "You see what you can do about all this."

"Virgil's more important than my carpet," Grandma said, but the dismay in her eyes as she surveyed the damage was clear. John patted her shoulder and nudged Virgil forward.

"The guys will help you clean up," he said. "Won't you?" This last was directed at Gordon with a glare that told the boy that there'd be trouble later. Gordon didn't care though. He was more concerned about what Grandma would say. And his father. And Scott. Not to mention Virgil himself...

Virgil tried to protest as he was led away by John, but since his words were completely unintelligible, they could only guess at his meaning. John easily countered his still somewhat dazed brother's efforts to push him away, steering him out of the front door. A minute later they heard his car start, then stall, then finally drive away.

"What can I do, Grandma?" Gordon asked hesitantly.

"I think you've done quite enough," Grandma told him. "How many times have I told you not to play baseball in the house?"

"We didn't have a ball," Gordon muttered, though he knew he didn't really have much of a defence.

Grandma sighed and shook her head. "Just get my cleaning box from under the sink," she said. "We'll talk about this later - when your father gets back."

Gordon did as he was told, returning to the sitting room to find his grandmother on her knees as she tried to pick bits of cake out of her carpet, Alan doing his best to help.

Gordon might not have been an expert in cleaning like his grandmother, but he guessed that the carpet was probably beyond saving. Grandma did her best but ten minutes later it became clear that no amount of scrubbing was going to completely shift the stains. She said nothing, but the sadness in her eyes just made Gordon feel even more guilty.

"Grandma?" Alan said quietly.

"What is it, Alan?"

"Will Virgil still be able to play the piano for you?

The cloth fell from Grandma's hand and her expression of misery became even more pronounced.

"I don't see how he can," she said slowly. "The poor boy didn't know what day it was. And his face... He's such a handsome boy but the way he looked just now... As if he'd been in some kind of gang fight. Lydia Harris already thinks he's some kind of thug, this is just going to confirm it."

"But we'll tell her it was my fault," Gordon protested.

"Yes, but that won't help her opinion of you," Grandma said. "No, Virgil can't possibly play tomorrow." She rose to her feet with a weary sigh. "I'm going to have to call Lydia. She's going to love this. She's had Hayley practising all along just in case anything went wrong."

She moved towards the phone but before she could dial the number a frantic screeching came from the kitchen. Grandma paled and raised a hand to her mouth. "The apples! I just came running when I heard Alan scream. I didn't think to turn the gas off."

Sure enough the two giant pans of apples which had been simmering away nicely before all the drama, were now a sticky, blackened mess. Gordon took the chance to relieve his feelings a little by hitting the alarm button until it went quiet, whilst Alan opened the windows to let out the smoke.

Grandma sat at the table and put her head in her hands.

"Grandma?" Alan asked, taking a nervous step towards her before turning helplessly to Gordon.

Gordon swallowed, deciding that of all the disasters which had even befallen him, this had to be the worst. He'd never made his grandmother cry before - in fact, he'd never even _seen_ her cry before. He'd never sent a brother to hospital either. All that effort to protect Virgil from the evil that was Barclay Bear and _he'd_ been the one to cause harm to his brother. Unless... Maybe this was all Barclay's doing.

No. Gordon shook himself as he sat down beside Grandma and put a shaky arm around her. This was all his fault, nothing to do with Barclay, just his own stupid carelessness. Not that he didn't believe the bear was unlucky, far from it, but he couldn't be blamed for this. As painful as the consequences were going to be he'd face them full on, just as he deserved to. If only he'd thought to check on the apples on the two occasions he'd gone into the kitchen, but he'd been too shaken up over what he'd done to Virgil.

The front door slammed, then an anxious voice called out,

"Mother? Boys? Is something burning?"

"Dad!" Alan leapt to his feet and was out of the kitchen in a flash. Gordon stared miserably at his grandmother as she sat up and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron before telling him to go and see his father.

Gordon trudged out of the kitchen knowing that he'd never been in greater trouble.

Alan had just finished reassuring his panicked father that the house wasn't on the point of burning down. But he was clearly desperate to tell the whole story and as Gordon reached them he happily announced to his father,

"Gordon made Grandma cry. And he broke Virgil!"

Jeff didn't quite register the second part of his youngest son's words, being totally thrown by the image of his mother crying. He'd only ever seen her cry when someone had died.

"Mom?" he called out, ignoring Gordon and striding towards the kitchen door, nearly bumping into his mother as she came hurrying to greet him.

"What's the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Alan said you'd been crying." Studying her carefully he could see that her eyes were indeed red.

"Now, Jeff, it's alright. I'm just not having the best of days. After what happened to poor Virgil it's not surprising I'm a little out of sorts. You're not to worry about me."

Jeff frowned in confusion, the rest of Alan's pronouncement suddenly registering loud and clear.

"Virgil? Gordon, what did Alan mean when he said you 'broke Virgil'?"

"I knew he'd be mad," Alan told his brother cheerfully.

"Alan!" Grandma's sharp voice stopped him saying anymore. "Jeff-"

He spoke over her without even realising.

"Gordon? I want to know what happened. What have you done to Virgil? Where is he anyway?"

Gordon hung his head and Jeff didn't catch his whisper.

"What was that?"

"I broke his nose. I didn't mean to..."

"You did _what?" _

"Now, Jeff, he's okay. John's taken him to the hospital to get checked out."

Jeff shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you, Gordon. What did you do this time_?"_

As Gordon stumbled through an explanation of the evening's events, Jeff's anger began to grow. When Gordon had finished he took a deep breath, counted to ten, then exploded anyway.

"Of all the stupid things to do! I don't know what to do with you boys. There's always some kind of trouble. Maybe I should bring you all to live with me in New York where I can keep an eye on you. Or boarding school... Yes, maybe that's the answer. Why my poor mother has to put up with this..."

Grandma sighed. "I should call Lydia. Then I'd better see about those pies. Those pans are probably ruined. I'll need to borrow some. And I need more apples. Jeff, I know you've had a long drive, but could you go down to the Ogilvy farm and pick up some more?"

"Whatever you need, Mom. Gordon, go and wait in your room. I'll speak to you later. Alan, help your grandmother."

"But Dad, what about the game?"

"Not tonight, Alan. I can't leave my mother like this. Anyway, I want to see what's happening with Virgil."

"But Dad..."

"No, son."

"Dad, it wasn't Alan's fault," Gordon said quietly. "He shouldn't have to miss the game because of me."

Jeff wasn't entirely convinced, but he couldn't face an evening of his youngest's whining, not when he had so many other things to worry about.

"Okay. You come along with me while I get these apples. You can call Paul. If his father's willing to take the pair of you I'll drop you off on the way back. Gordon, get back down here and do whatever your grandmother tells you."

"Okay, Dad." Gordon was quite glad to have the chance to make amends in some way, even if he did suspect he'd be put to work scrubbing pans then peeling vast quantities of apples.

"Better go and get Barclay," Gordon told Alan, much to his father and grandmother's surprise. "At least if we win today won't have been a complete disaster."

"Okay." Alan moved up the stairs as Gordon turned to go into the kitchen. If he'd carried on up then Gordon would never have known that his brother had, as he always did before a game, hidden Barclay amongst the pile of baseball bats, figuring that the bear should get himself in the right mood to work his magic on the team. But Gordon, despite everything on his mind, was curious to know why his brother hadn't gone upstairs and had turned round just in time to see Barclay being pulled out by one furry leg.

_"Gordon!"_ Jeff could have predicted what was coming next. Alan certainly knew his brother was going to go for the bear, but backed into a corner with no escape and no time to get the front door open, he could go nowhere. Gordon grabbed Barclay and yanked him away from Alan, leaving the boy holding just his leg. Then he was gone, dodging past Jeff as he tried to catch him, shooting through the kitchen nearly knocking Grandma over, and hurtling out the back door, fully aware from his brother's yells that Alan too had got past their father and was out to rescue his supposedly lucky bear.

Gordon didn't know what to do. All he could think of was that Barclay had done this. He'd cast some evil influence over the bat Gordon had used to damage Virgil. He'd never have touched the thing if he'd known the bear had been near it. He'd blamed himself when all the time it was Barclay who'd hurt Virgil - obviously biding his time, laughing at Gordon's efforts to protect him before the audition and his relief when that had gone well - and, worst of all, he'd upset Grandma, the person who'd tended to him when he'd been damaged and ensured he hadn't ended up in the garbage a long time ago. Was there no end to the bear's malice?

But all these thoughts ran through his mind as an undercurrent. His pressing concern was just to get rid of it, once and for all. But how? With Alan giving chase he had so little time.

He rounded the corner of the house and saw Virgil's workshop up ahead. That was it. There had to be something in there - an axe, a blowtorch, anything which would destroy that bear once and for all.

Alan caught up with his brother as he reached the door. Any other time it would have been locked, but Virgil had intended to go straight back after getting his food and the door flew open as Gordon shoved it. Alan piled into him, making a grab for the bear, and the two boys tumbled to the ground, crashing into Virgil's sculpture as they did so.

The resulting crash sobered both boys up immediately. The piece had fallen backwards, hitting the floor and shattering. Bits of metal skittered across the floor in all directions. Barclay fell from Gordon's hand but Alan didn't even notice as he stared open-mouthed at the damage. Virgil was going to kill them.

If their father didn't do it first...

Jeff appeared in the doorway, his expression matching Alan's as he saw the devastation. Then the fury kicked in and he grabbed both sons by an arm - Alan snatching Barclay up from the floor first - and pulled them out of the workshop.

"Get to your rooms!" he snarled. "I don't want to see you; I don't want to speak to you. When your brother sees this..."

Gordon and Alan fled. Neither had ever seen their father so enraged and the need to get to the sanctuary of their rooms and lock themselves in, maybe for a couple of years, was all either of them could think of. Scuttling past Grandma who had just arrived on the scene, they shot into the house and up the stairs, Alan in his room and locking the door before Gordon could collect himself long enough to wish he'd made another grab for Barclay.

He really should have known that bear hadn't finished with him.

Outside, Jeff and Grandma looked at the remains of Virgil's artwork.

"Oh Jeff," Grandma sighed. "That poor, poor boy."

Her son put an arm around her. "Let's see what state he's in when he comes home," he said. "We don't have to tell him tonight." There weren't many things that scared Jeff Tracy, but the prospect of breaking this news to Virgil... He wasn't sure he could bring himself to do it.

"I can't tell him," Grandma said, seeming to guess what her son was thinking. "You're his father."

Jeff nodded. "All that work..."

"Talking of work," Grandma said, "I really do need those apples, Jeff."

She had never felt less like baking - and she knew the resulting pies wouldn't be her best. Her pastry was never at its lightest when she was out of sorts. But the dinner was a sell-out and people would be expecting dessert. Deciding that maybe an extra-large glass of sherry might be in order, she let Jeff lead her back to the kitchen.

Two hours later, everyone was engaged in a frantic apple-peeling marathon, Gordon and Alan both shut in their rooms, Grandma and Jeff in the kitchen.

They hadn't heard the car pull up outside – surprising really since there had been an urgent screech of brakes and the sound of metal hitting brick – so it was a shock to Jeff and his mother when John came into the kitchen, followed by a decidedly miserable-looking Virgil. Jeff, since he'd had no warning of the sorry sight in store for him, was stunned to see Virgil sporting a pair of impressive black eyes to go with his swollen nose.

"_Jefferson!"_

Jeff found himself blushing – he never swore in front of his mother. At least not since he was thirteen. He hadn't been able to sit down for hours afterwards, his father had grounded him for a week and he'd been given extra chores for the next month. Getting a grip on himself he turned to his injured son, knowing there was no way he could pile any more misery onto him tonight.

"Virgil, are you alright?"

The reply was incomprehensible. John translated.

"He'll be fine. He's feeling a bit sorry for himself right now, but there won't be any permanent damage. His nose will look the same as it always did - it'll take a couple of weeks, though."

"Well, that's good," Grandma said, leading her injured grandson to a chair. "Do you want anything, darling?"

"Wanna kill Gordon." Virgil was clear enough this time.

"Don't we all," Jeff muttered much to John's surprise. He caught his father's eye. Jeff glanced across at Virgil who was still being fussed over by Grandma and inclined his head in the direction of his study. "John, a word."

When Jeff emerged from his study five minutes later with a speechless John, it was to find Grandma standing at the foot of the stairs watching Virgil make his way up.

"I've sent him to bed," she told them.

"Does he know?" John asked.

"No, dear. I don't think I can take any more drama tonight. We'll deal with it tomorrow."

Of course, it didn't work out as well as anyone had hoped. At eight-thirty the next morning, Alan, having weighed up the pros and cons of waking his brother at such an unearthly hour - at least it was unearthly if you were Virgil - decided to get his side of the story in first. He'd cowered in his room all the previous evening and assumed his father or grandmother would have already told Virgil of the destruction of his artwork. Hoping to avoid the worst of his brother's anger by putting the blame firmly onto Gordon, he jumped onto Virgil's bed and launched into his story.

Grandma was just rolling out some pastry and discussing with Jeff how and when to tell Virgil, when the kitchen door flew open and the subject of their conversation charged through, ignoring her as he wrenched the back door open and sped off in the direction of his workshop. When Alan came nervously into the kitchen, clutching both pieces of Barclay tightly - he'd decided the only way to protect him from Gordon was never to let him out of his sight in future - the adults knew exactly what had happened.

"Did you have to?" Jeff asked wearily, taking a large gulp of coffee to fortify himself before heading out to try to pacify his middle son.

"We wanted to break the news _gently_," Grandma told Alan. Then she caught sight of Barclay. "What are you doing with that thing? I don't want to see it again, Alan. It's caused far too much trouble for this family."

Alan held out the bear and his detached limb. "Can you fix him?" he asked. "And can I have a lock on my door? I don't trust Gordon."

"I can't do anything with him now," Grandma said. "Let me get this dinner out of the way then I'll see what I can do."

Alan wasn't happy but he could see there was no point arguing. It wasn't fair, he thought. None of this was Barclay's fault. Gordon was just stupid. Barclay brought _good_ luck - he'd proved that yesterday evening when, the first time Alan and his bear had missed a home game, their team had managed to lose to a team they should have annihilated. All Gordon's fault...

The back door opened and Jeff escorted a white-faced Virgil inside. Grandma glared at Alan and nodded upstairs, a clear signal to get Barclay away from his brother. Then she turned to Virgil, doing her best to console him.

But nothing made Virgil feel better, not even a phone call from Scott who'd been at a party the previous night but had now been brought up to date by John. Gordon, when he finally plucked up the courage to face Virgil, tried to apologise to his brother, but only managed to enrage him further when he had jokingly suggested that the ruined self-portrait was actually a fair reflection of the way Virgil looked right now.

Grandma broke up the ensuing argument. "I have a job for you, Gordon," she said. "A way you can make it up to me for ruining my best room."

"Anything, Grandma," the redhead said, ignoring his brother's muttered comment that Grandma must be out of her mind if she was trusting Gordon to do anything other than cause further carnage.

"We're short of helpers tonight now Hayley is providing the entertainment."

"I'll do it. Really, Grandma, I am sorry, you know."

"I know, dear. Now then, we need to find you something to wear." She looked at him doubtfully - Gordon never dressed up and she knew Lydia Harris would take any opportunity to criticise.

"The suit I got when I played for the Mayor's inauguration should fit him," Virgil said, grinning as well as he was able to as Gordon looked at him in horror. "He should probably get a haircut, too."

"Oh, yes," Grandma said, looking more cheerful than she had since the previous day. "Your father can take you later. Come along, dear, let's find that suit. You're going to look so smart..."

Gordon wasn't happy and that made Virgil feel good for all of a minute before he sank back into the depths of misery as he thought about all the hours he'd wasted on his project. He'd tried to put the pieces back together, but it just hadn't worked. It wasn't just a case of reassembling it like some kind of machine - the piece was a representation of his feelings over the past few months and that kind of thing just couldn't be recreated. Gordon was right in a way - Virgil felt just as broken as his sculpture. In the end he'd given up, locking the door behind him and wondering what he was going to do come Monday when everyone's work had to be submitted for the final grading. Far from the A he'd been guaranteed almost from the start, given the work he'd already submitted during the year, he knew that now, with nothing to exhibit, he was looking at an F.

Gordon wasn't the only one who found himself dreading that evening's dinner. It went without saying that Grandma expected Jeff to be there, relying on him to boost the fundraising with a hefty donation. He usually did his best to avoid his mother's friends - despite all his achievements there were a few of them who still referred to him as 'Young Jefferson' and one who, he was convinced, would have pinched his cheek and ruffled his hair if she could have reached that high. But for one night he endured it - and it was always a pleasure to hear his mother's cooking praised. Barbara had been right when she'd insisted that was the only reason some people came along.

Waiting by the door for his mother, Gordon already in the car charged with ensuring none of the pies got damaged en-route, Jeff was surprised when John joined him.

"You're coming too?"

"I thought Grandma could do with the support. Anyway, someone should keep an eye on Gordon."

"You could have a point. Is he speaking to Alan yet?"

"No. He still blames him for Barclay cursing the baseball bat." John's raised eyebrow told his father exactly what he thought of that suggestion.

"That bear needs to go," Jeff said.

"That wouldn't make Alan happy. He's convinced we lost last night because Barclay wasn't there."

"Where is it anyway?" Jeff asked. "Alan hasn't put it in my car to bring my mother luck, has he?"

John laughed. "No. Don't tell Gordon, but he's in my room. Al managed to sew his leg on - backwards - then he gave him to me for safe-keeping. Gords knows better than to go rummaging around in my stuff."

"Living dangerously, eh?" Jeff asked.

"Oh, come on Dad, you know I don't believe in all that nonsense."

"All ready, dear?" Grandma asked, emerging from the kitchen with the last of the pies. "John? I didn't know you were coming."

"He's going to watch Gordon for you," Jeff told her.

"Really?" Grandma asked. "You won't be watching that Hayley girl then?"

She had to smile when John just blushed.

Despite Grandma's worries that even more might go wrong - not that she believed Barclay had any influence on events, but the Tracys just seemed to be having one of their infamous runs of bad luck - the dinner went well. Lydia was too full of pride in her grand-daughter - Hayley played competently, even if Grandma couldn't help thinking that her choices of music were a little on the simple side compared to what Virgil would have treated the diners to - to make any comments on Virgil's non-appearance, although she did manage to choose the very moment that the applause for one of Hayley's pieces died down to suggest rather loudly to her neighbour that Ruth's pastry was perhaps a little heavier than usual. But - as hard as she tried - she could find no fault with Gordon, who served soup, gravy and coffee without spilling a drop.

Finally the meal was over and the Mayor got up to make a speech. John took the opportunity to slip away, much to the envy of his father as he tried to get comfortable in order to endure what he knew from past experience would be at least twenty minutes of stale jokes and clichéd inanities. Still, the old ladies seemed to like it and there was always a round of applause for his mother when the Mayor complimented the cooks. No one else seemed to have noticed that the pies weren't quite up to their usual standard.

Finally the event was over. Gordon was finishing the last of the washing-up when Grandma and Jeff came into the kitchen. Lydia followed, but instead of joining Grandma in picking up a cloth to dry off some plates, she headed for the fire exit announcing the need for a quick cigarette.

Grandma picked up a plate, only to drop it in surprise when a loud scream came from outside. Lydia was yelling something incoherently, only her grand-daughter's name clear. Gordon froze as his father ran for the door. There was silence for a moment before Jeff's voice suddenly bellowed,

"John Tracy, make yourself decent and get in here now!"

Lydia stormed in, dragging Hayley along with her. From the state of her clothes it was clear what her grandmother had interrupted and the girl was doing her best to do up a few buttons as she was pulled out of the kitchen.

"I knew your boys were trouble!" Lydia hissed at Grandma. She was gone before Grandma could come up with any retort about Hayley and her reputation.

"Stop laughing, Gordon!" Grandma snapped, before turning back to the door where a red-faced John now stood, his father behind him, looking decidedly unimpressed.

Gordon couldn't stop, though, although it got him kicked out of the room by his grandmother so that he missed the lecture John was evidently being subjected to. Still, it gave him the chance to build some bridges with Virgil and, after his initial call was abruptly curtailed by Virgil cutting him off without a word, the text he then sent was clearly fascinating enough for Virgil to forget his own woes and call him for a proper account.

As his father emerged from the kitchen with a curt, "We're going home!" Gordon said goodbye to Virgil. His brother's final words that the night's surprises weren't over didn't really register as he caught sight of John's humiliated expression.

"Don't say it," John muttered as he stormed past his brother. "You've convinced me. That bear has to go."

Unaware that Barclay was currently sitting in John's wardrobe, Gordon couldn't help being confused. But his joy at the announcement was topped when they got back to the house to discover that Scott had decided he couldn't take any more of his brothers' arguments and had flown home for a few days to try and sort things out.

Jeff and Grandma were, despite their surprise and uncertainty as to the wisdom of Scott taking a break from his studies so close to his exams, delighted to see him, both immediately deciding that if anyone could restore sanity to the family it would be the eldest son.

But the brothers' reunion was short, three of them still in deep trouble. John was taken into the kitchen by his grandmother and wasn't seen for half an hour, emerging sullenly and taking himself up to bed before he could be picked up by his father. Jeff didn't mind too much, deciding that John had probably suffered enough at the hands of his grandmother and there would be plenty of time for him to have his say in the morning. He wasn't without understanding, having been in a similar situation himself years earlier, but even so, his son would need to be reminded that next time he should choose the time and place -and probably the girl - a little more carefully.

Gordon and Alan, still in trouble for their destruction of Virgil's artwork and, in Gordon's case, of Virgil's face, were sent to bed. Alan went without fuss since he'd spent the last two hours with his brother, Scott having overridden Virgil's assertion that the youngest Tracy should stay in his room as his father had instructed. But if Scott had hoped to get the two brothers talking, it hadn't worked. Virgil wasn't in the mood to forgive Alan, not even with Scott around, and the ten-year-old was too overwhelmed by the enormity of his actions to risk annoying Virgil any more. He'd had to admit to being relieved when Scott arrived, Virgil's stony glare in his direction every time he showed his face intimidating the boy more than he'd thought possible.

It was an hour later when Virgil made his way up to bed, only to be accosted by John who was peeking through a narrow gap in his door.

"Virg! In here!"

Virgil obediently slipped into his brothers room, pulling up short at the sight of Gordon - still uncertain whether he'd forgiven his brother or not despite their earlier conversation - and, of all things, Barclay, sitting innocently on the floor in the middle of the room.

"What's he doing out?" Virgil asked, refusing to move any closer to the bear.

"We're trying to work out what to do with him," Gordon said.

"Burn it." Virgil turned to leave.

"We thought of that. But the way our luck's going we'll end up setting the house on fire. No, we've got a plan. We need your help though."

"Okay."

John picked up Barclay and shut him back in the wardrobe before explaining - very quietly, just in case Barclay should overhear - what he needed Virgil to do.

The next day saw a change in the atmosphere in the house. Jeff and Grandma put it down to Scott's presence, as did the eldest brother himself, proud of the fact that he hadn't lost his touch when it came to handling his brothers even after a couple of years away at college. Virgil had apparently decided to forgive Alan and Gordon and, when Gordon apologised to Alan for starting the chase which had led to the sculpture being destroyed, harmony seemed restored.

Jeff and Grandma were delighted that things seemed to be calming down. When Virgil suggested the brothers head off to a lake a few miles away for a picnic, the adults put aside their reluctance to allow John, Gordon and Alan any treats, deciding that anything that cemented the boys' restored unity had to be a good thing. Grandma busied herself making sandwiches, Virgil generously donated the remainder of his chocolate cake, and the others busied themselves getting swimming gear and picnic blankets ready.

"I'll drive," John said.

Alan had no problem with that, but he was surprised when Virgil and Gordon agreed. He helped his brothers load up the car and they set off.

John had a couple of near-misses on the way but for him it was an uneventful journey. Although a muscle in Scott's jaw had twitched uncharacteristically throughout the drive, he'd hidden his nervousness well, only closing his eyes once when it seemed Mrs Venables' cat was about to reach the last of its nine lives.

A couple of hours of swimming helped them work up an appetite and the food was gone within minutes. The boys relaxed, Gordon, John and Virgil sprawled on the blankets, Scott and Alan leaning against a fallen tree trunk. Alan rested his head on Scott's shoulder, happy to be spending time with his eldest brother.

"That's cute," John said. "Grandma would love a picture of that."

Virgil reached for his sketchpad. "Hold still, guys."

Alan groaned, even as Scott obediently did as he was told. "Hurry up, Virg. I'm not staying here all afternoon."

Virgil put down his pencil and fixed Alan with a stare that clearly meant: _you owe me - don't spoil another piece of artwork if you know what's good for you,_ and Alan, with a nervous swallow, fell silent.

After five minutes or so, when the only sound was the scratching of Virgil's pencil, Gordon got to his feet.

"Coming for a walk, John?"

"Sure."

The two boys ambled off along the path. But as soon as they got a hundred yards away from their brothers they changed direction and ran back to the car. John retrieved a large bag which he'd told Alan contained equipment for a science project when he'd asked if it needed to be taken along to the lake, slinging it over his shoulders and following Gordon into the woods.

They walked for twenty minutes before deciding they'd found the perfect spot.

"I can't believe he's letting us get away with this," Gordon said. "You don't think he's got one last lot of bad luck left in him, do you?"

"I hope not. Still want to take the risk?" John paused, the spade he'd taken out of his bag poised and ready.

"Do it," Gordon told him. "Maybe this far away from home he won't have any influence. Just drive really carefully on the way home. Or better still, let Scott drive."

John considered this for a moment, gave his agreement, then began to dig. Five minutes later they decided the hole was big enough and Gordon took a package wrapped in plastic from the bag.

"'Bye, Barclay," he said, throwing the bear into the hole. "I don't care what punishment I get for this. I don't care how upset Al is, I don't even care if I never see another winning baseball game. You've got to go."

John shovelled dirt on top of the bear, smoothing over the top and patting the earth down.

"Okay. Let's get back."

Virgil was just finishing up his picture when they returned to the lake. He glanced up at his brothers then, satisfied by the tiny nod John gave him, announce that with perfect timing he was finished and if anyone wanted another swim he'd race them to the lake. Gordon couldn't help being on edge for the rest of the afternoon but no one drowned, they didn't crash on the way home, and the rest of the evening passed harmoniously, although Virgil had grown quiet when he'd remembered that his project had to be submitted the next day and all he had was a pile of junk.

Grandma had prepared Virgil's favourite dinner that Monday, deciding that the boy would need cheering up after failing his Art assessment. She was as surprised as anyone when Virgil strolled in from school announcing that after all the fuss he'd aced it with an A and the highest marks of any of his fellow students.

"How did you manage that?" Gordon asked.

"I remembered what you said about me looking as bad as my art. I just threw the pieces on the floor, sat down in the middle and looked sorry for myself. Mrs Lang said she appreciated my dedication to my art and my willingness to embrace new techniques. You might have done me a favour, Gords."

"Our luck's changing already," John said, with a grin at Gordon. It wouldn't be until later that the redhead would learn that John was particularly happy because Hayley had asked him on a date, apparently keen to take up where they'd left off.

Scott returned to college happy that he'd been able to sort his brothers out, and so began a tranquil time for the Tracys. John assured Alan that he was keeping Barclay safe and, since there was no home game that week, it was nearly a fortnight before the boy discovered the loss of his bear.

Alan was, of course, devastated when John announced that someone had been in his room and stolen Barclay. Suspicion naturally fell on Gordon, but, although the boy eventually admitted he had indeed got rid of him, he refused to say where or how. Since John had insisted the bear had been in his room for the past week, Alan had no inkling that two other brothers had been involved, nor that the woods might be the place to search for Barclay.

John and Virgil had offered to share the blame, but Gordon, keen to make amends to Virgil, at least, would have none of it. Indeed, he took a real pride in being the one who was seen to be responsible for defeating the bear. Alan cried, punched him and didn't talk to him for days, Grandma denied him desserts for a week and his father shouted and grounded him for a month, but Gordon insisted it was worth it, especially since John and Virgil went out of their way to be nice to him, sneaking him treats and promising to make it up to him once he was allowed out again.

To cheer Alan up Jeff bought him a new go-kart and the boy was soon happy again, especially when the baseball team returned to their winning ways. He even forgave Gordon - eventually. No more disasters befell the family and, as time passed, Barclay became a distant memory to all but the two youngest boys.

BBBBBBBBBBBBB

It was one evening in late October when Gordon, Alan and Grandma were enjoying a cosy chat in the kitchen. They were the only ones in the house. John was having the time of his life in college, thrilled to have found peers who matched his intelligence and ingenuity. Virgil had gone off to a piano lesson, his first concert with the orchestra having taken place the previous weekend, one which, despite him having been hit with the worst panic attack he'd ever experienced, also saw him give his best ever performance. It had been a watershed for him, though, and he'd finally decided that, however much he loved to play, he couldn't spend the rest of his life dealing with that kind of stress every time he did so in public. It seemed as though he was destined to be an engineer after all. His father had been delighted.

Just as Grandma was lifting the kettle to make tea she paused. "Did you hear someone knock the door?" she asked.

Gordon and Alan hadn't heard anything, being engaged in a lively debate about what to buy Scott for Christmas. But Grandma was sure she'd heard something and she asked Gordon to go and check.

Gordon did as he was asked, but there was no one there as he opened the door. It was dark outside, the porch light only extending a short distance along the drive, and he couldn't see anyone around. Grandma must have been mistaken, he thought.

It was only when he happened to glance down before shutting the door that he saw it lying on the doormat. Dirty, wet and apparently slightly mouldy, but recognisable all the same.

Barclay was back.

Gordon's scream echoed down the driveway. Grandma and Alan heard it and came running. Mrs Henderson next door heard it and clutched at her heart in fear.

But Mr Robinson, eighty-five and almost completely deaf, only putting his hearing aids in on special occasions, such as the couple of weeks before Christmas when he played Santa for the town's department store, didn't hear it. Instead, he chuckled to himself as he made his way back down the drive, picturing the surprise and delight his little trick would cause.

He'd been walking his dog up by the lakes that afternoon. When Patch had disappeared amongst the trees only to return with some unidentifiable object in his mouth he hadn't thought much of it - the dog had a habit of bringing him the most unwelcome presents. When he'd realised it was a teddy bear he'd felt fleetingly sorry for whichever kid had lost it. Then, when he'd prised it out of Patch's jaws he'd noticed writing on the bear's back.

_Barclay Bear_

_Property of Alan Tracy_

Well, Burt Robinson knew Alan Tracy. He knew all the Tracys. Over the years they'd all sat on his knee in the run-up to Christmas, whispering hopefully about planes and pianos and enormous quantities of chocolate. Alan was a good kid and Mr Robinson was delighted to think he could reunite him with his bear.

He'd been going to wait at the door - Ruth Tracy could always be relied upon to feed and water a visitor and if he was lucky it would be a baking day. But then, as he'd got to the porch something had made him change his mind and he'd set the bear down, tapped gently at the door, then, with surprising swiftness for a man his age, made his escape. There was something magical about doing it this way, as if the bear had been so desperate to return that he'd done it all by himself.

Gordon, of course, would always believe he had.


End file.
